She Walks These Streets
by Calla Mae
Summary: Nory Lake was a simple waitress, crude, loud, inappropriate, uninhibited. These were the things Wesley thought of Nory, and he'd never understand why Fisk had taken a liking to her. Until suddenly he understood, suddenly he cared - but it was too late by then, she'd already been hurt. Wesley/OC
1. Chapter 1

Nory Lake walked quickly through the dark streets in Hell's Kitchen, the warm dank breeze ruffling her loose hair and stealing inside her thin uniform making her pull her sweater tighter around her. She hurried past every menacing alley, kept her eyes down as she passed street dwellers, didn't stop for any catcall or other more crass suggestions. The smell of gasoline and trash, piss, hung heavy in her lungs as she walked the same path she traveled the last week and a half since her car broke down; telling herself that just because it was dark didn't automatically make it scary and that every night before she'd gotten home fine.

Only she suddenly looked around to find the streets empty. It was such a surprise to realize she was now completely alone, no druggies in the shadows, no nightcrawlers to leer – she should've breathed a sigh of relief at the peaceful walk. But there was a car alarm going off two streets over, sirens whooped in the distance, muffled voices yelled from far away, dogs barked somewhere out of sight, and she had a very distinct feeling of being watched. Ice wedged itself in her chest as she picked up her already brisk pace, wishing for dirty men with even dirtier minds to be sitting or leaning as they stared cause at least there were other people around, not this endless emptiness that tightened around her suffocatingly.

At the distinct sound of tires slowly crawling over asphalt, that she could hear now it was so quiet, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she forced her aching feet to walk faster, forced her hammering heart and burning lungs to push further. She didn't turn around to see if there was a car following her, she was too afraid of being right and the act of turning around would have someone jumping out of the car she was now sure was behind her. She thought she was being smart, thought if she could just get past this block she could make a run for it – she didn't have to make it home, she just had to make to a place where she knew people were awake to hear her, cause from the look of the buildings around her there was no one.

She almost made it, she was twenty feet from the curb, the tires still crunching gravel, and the house across from her had a yard encased in shadows – that's where she'd run, through their backyard and make it to her apartment the back way. That was the plan, it was a damn good one, and she was so hoping once she'd run into the shadows she'd turn around and find there was no car and she was overreacting.

But she wasn't. She was a step away from the curb, a second from lunging forward, when a hard blow had her crying out as she was knocked off her feet. Pain hadn't registered in her face yet from the panic racing through her veins, but she couldn't see straight – it looked like two men with broad shoulders were bearing down on her. Before she could scream a hand covered her mouth and she was dragged toward the now stopped car that had been following behind her.

From the rooftops the faint sound of a woman's cry was heard, the first as she was struck and the second much fainter as her body hit the ground. With baited breath he listened, pushing past all the normal cadences of life, waiting for her to cry out again so he could find her. And then he heard it, a brief moment where the sound of a shrill terrified scream reached him before it suddenly cut off.

Nory had struggled relentlessly in a panic, her legs thrashing, her hands clawing at the arms that pulled her, her teeth sinking into the flesh around her mouth. She'd screamed all the while, muffled beneath a large hand, but for a moment she heard her own voice ring clear as a bell before that same fist struck her again. Harder.

She lay curled on her side with her eyes wide open seeing nothing but black for several moments, honestly wondering if he'd knocked her head clean off cause she couldn't feel anything. The man growled something she didn't understand before grabbing her collar and sitting her up, and before her eyes could focus on his face he hit her again. He would've continued if the driver hadn't yelled to get to her in the car.

Nory heard none of it, her ears were deafened by the sound of her heart inside her skull, the world was spinning out of control and it was so heavy she couldn't move. With a hand wound in her hair she was dragged toward the car, her slow mind trying to get her to fight again and her body tried to listen, but she hung limply not even able to scream as she was pulled along.

Her body crumbled again to the pavement, her head hitting the concrete with a thud, her eyes staring up at a black sky where a few stars shined rebelliously through the haze of streetlights. They twinkled and danced to the sound of yells and grunts, a pair of quick light feet on the hood of the car, a door slamming, a body falling to the ground. She didn't pay mind to any of it she just kept staring at the few stars that flickered in and out, out and in, and she set her breathing to their rhythm – with her mind beaten clear and the sense knocked out of her she set the tune of her body to that of the universe, and for a brief moment she felt infinite.

"Can you hear me?"

His blackness blended with the dark of the sky she hadn't noticed him kneel beside her, didn't see his masked face hovering over her. "Yes," she said so softly she didn't hear herself.

She was gonna pass out, he could hear it in her erratic heart, in the small gasps of air she took; she was in shock. "Where do you live?" he asked needing her to focus, smelling the iron of her blood. The guys were out for now and he certainly couldn't leave her, nor could he just find her I.D. and read her address.

"No," she said with a small shake of her head, at least until she realized how much of a mistake moving was and then she was left almost whimpering as her brain sloshed around inside her head.

He gave an irritable growl of a sigh before he pulled her to her feet and held her against him as her knees gave out. "In less than a minute you'll lose consciousness, I can either take you home or leave you here when they wake up."

"4D," she answered staring up at his face, wondering how he could see with the mask over his eyes. "It's two blocks that way," she said aiming to point but she was doing good lifting her arm at all, not that he saw it.

He knew her voice, that was his first thought, he saw her on a frequent enough basis and spoke idly to her enough – if he pulled off his glove he'd recognize the feel of her sleeve from how many times he touched it. His second thought was he didn't know what way was 'that way'. "Nory," he said hearing the chaotic rhythm of her breathing change – her heart was still thudding relentlessly, but her breathing slowed, deepened. "Nor-" he sighed heavily as she fell completely limp.  
He was left with her purse hanging on his elbow as he carried her in the direction the car had been facing, taking a guess that they'd followed her. He counted the streets, doing nothing more than hoping she meant two full blocks rather than the complex being on the second block.

The hum of the generator caught his ear, down the middle of the third sidewalk, and he was careful to feel for the wall rather than hit her head on it. Pulling a glove off with his teeth he threw his favorite waitress over his shoulder and began feeling for numbers on the doors, climbing a flight of stairs, and finding 4D at the end of the hall.

…

Nory woke the next morning to a crippling headache, barely able to keep her eyes open to the sunlight for more than a blink before her entire brain began to ache. It was easy to remember the man who attacked her, how afraid she'd been, how close she'd come to harm – and she had no idea what would've happened if she'd been loaded into that car. What wasn't as easy was the man in the mask who'd saved her. And yet she was laying on her couch not quite sound but she was safe – and he'd even draped a blanket over her before he left.

She convinced herself to get up. It took a lot of talking into but she needed to check her head, her face mostly, and see how she looked cause she felt like shit. She also needed advil, which she was surprised to find sitting on the coffee table with a glass of water; she almost smiled, tried to before she winced at the feeling. With an arm braced on the back of the couch she climbed shakily to her feet, feeling like gravity was actively pushing down on her head.

And then she saw something black lying forgotten by the door. She stumbled her way to the hall and picked up the glove he'd dropped from his mouth after he'd gotten the door open, that he hadn't been able to find before he left. Holding it in her hand she wondered who her masked savior was, how he'd found her – how she could thank him for saving her life.

* * *

 _This is an idea that popped into my head almost the moment Wesley appeared with his stoic, snobbish, arrogant self - and somehow that translates into awesome for me. I ended up loving his character. I'm hoping that while kind of a tragic romance this story will also be a bit humorous, especially with Nory and Wesley cause they're very different. Also, this is kind of a preface to the start of the first episode; my idea was that this attack is what started Matt to finding the human trafficking ring._


	2. Chapter 2

Nory took off as much time as she could while still being able to pay rent, which was a day. And there wasn't enough makeup in Manhattan to cover the bruises on her face; the right side of her nose was yellow and purple extending to the crease under her eye, another bruise circled the corner of her mouth where her lip had split under the man's fist. She was a mess, but it was a mess she was used to. There was no need to duck her head hoping to go unseen, no need to be shy cause the splotches of purple and yellow spoke volumes of how weak she was. Nory knew people would see, they'd form their opinions they'd let it show on their faces, they'd whisper to their friends; and after years of wearing this purple war paint she'd learned how to not care.

Until she saw the large man she knew only as Mr. Fisk. She couldn't hide anything from him, he had eyes that saw straight through her and a way about him that had words just falling from her mouth.  
He started stopping by the small diner a few months after she moved to Hell's Kitchen, he used to come there as a boy he'd said. He didn't come by often, once a month at most, yet after that first time she waited on him he always sat down during her shift. Most of the time he didn't order anything, he'd stare out the window with the saddest face Nory thought she'd ever seen, and she'd give him water sometimes coffee when he asked; and he always left a generous tip no matter if he paid for anything else.

"Someone hurt you."

There was no hello, no asking how she'd been or any other casual pleasantries, he was straight to the matter of things. "Yes,"

"Why?" he asked without pause. She was small, young, kind; and in obvious discomfort she still managed a smile. The things he would do if faced with the man who put his hands on her.

With the raising of a shoulder she glanced out the window at the grey sky, too used to his peculiar way of speaking, and behaving, to find it odd anymore. "I don't know," she told him honestly. "I was walking home the other night and a man attacked me, but," she was quick to add at the widening of his eyes as he listened – at the tightening of his meaty fists – "a good Samaritan came to my rescue. So I'm okay, just a little banged up."

She didn't know what she'd done to earn his favor, his attention, but there were times when it was the most astounding thing – she felt it then, staring at his concerned eyes and the underlying rage at just the sight of a few bruises on her face. "Can I get you anything, Mr. Fisk?"

He liked her voice, it was sweet and thick like syrup – she didn't chirp, the sound of it didn't hurt his ears, it was gentle and warm. "No," he said turning away. "I'm afraid I cannot stay long today." He looked back up at her as though she might sigh in disappointment, as though her disappointment meant anything to him.

But she nodded, he never stayed more than ten minutes unless she was particularly chatty that day. "Okay. Let me know if you change your mind about gettin anything," she told him, her mouth curling in a familiar slight way. There were times he could see a hint of how lovely her smile had once been, how full and joyous; she was subdued, burning out, and he'd do anything to keep the light in her going.

She left him to see to the other tables, to take orders, refill glasses, bus plates, talk idly with the people who came in almost everyday. She didn't realize it until she'd circled her way back to where Fisk sat, where he always sat, that his stare was the only one that didn't offer judgment, that her shoulder weren't weighed down by other people's disposition; it was like the first breath of a cool night's air after spending a few hours suffocating at the front of a concert. She didn't realize it until she stood beside him and he said; "you should not have been walking." He didn't look at her, didn't see his abrupt words had taken her aback, his eyes were lost in the world outside as he tried to speak his mind. "Forgive me for speaking out of turn," he told her, "but it isn't safe. You are not to walk home again." His gaze shifted toward the seat across from him as she slipped into the booth, and he waited for excuses, words of defense, an attitude, something to refute his care of her.

"My car broke down," she told him as explanation and she swallowed much of her pride to tell him, "I can't afford to get it fixed." It was gonna be a good long while before she could pay for the repair, and the parts, and still afford rent and food; and somehow she wasn't sure he fully understood what it meant to live paycheck to paycheck, he might have once but he certainly didn't anymore. "I have to walk home tonight, I walked here. But I'll try to find a ride tomorrow," she assured him knowing by then he didn't take no lightly – whether or not she actually found a ride, he'd at least feel better thinking she would.

"I'll arrange for someone to drive you," he said without looking at her, knowing himself by then she'd say whatever would ease his mind – he didn't mind that essentially she lied to him, not when she did so with good intent.

Nory placed her elbow on the table and rested her cheek in hand as she watched him; his eyes flickering back and forth outside, his brows drawn together unhappily, his mouth frowning, too shy to look her in the eye. Her gentle giant, that's what she thought of him. "You're too good to me," she told him, a gentle smile tugging the corners of her mouth.

"Not good enough," he said knowing who'd attacked her, and that indirectly he was the one at fault. Already he'd called Wesley to see if the Russians knew her name, even if they didn't they knew her route home; the only way Fisk could keep her safe, this kind and generous young woman who had a smile for everyone she saw, was to declare her under his protection – which Wesley warned him might make matters worse. But sitting across from her, seeing the marks left on her face and feeling guilt boiling his blood, nothing would've stopped him from ensuring the Russians didn't go after her again. "I must go," he said looking at her briefly. "I have business to attend."

She watched him curiously, having seen his almost pained expression. "Well I hope to see you back soon," she told him, her eyes following him as he stood. He gave her a tightlipped smile nothing more than a twitch of his normally downturned mouth but it was an effort and she'd learned to appreciate it.

Collecting the water he didn't drink she wiped down the clean table out of habit, returned the glass to the kitchen before greeting two men who walked in. "Hey Foggy, Matt," she said standing close enough to Matt's side he'd know she was there. "How are things?" she asked drawing out the end for them to elaborate.

"Oh you know the usual," Foggy said leading the way to the table, "kicking ass and taking names."

Matt held his hand out and waited as Nory took it and tucked it in her elbow, listened close to the beat of her heart for a change in rhythm. He hadn't come across anyone he knew before, granted she'd been knocked around pretty good if Foggy's gasp at the sight of her was anything to go by. He didn't know if she'd recognized him, but from the sound of her calm heart he didn't think she had. She was normal, routine, as warm as ever as she led him to a booth even though he didn't need it – he liked the feel of her though, the smell of her soap.

"So you found a building?" she asked feeling Matt's hand brush against her side as he took a step closer – as he always did, and she pretended not to notice as she always did, only he wore that little grin that had her smiling as she shook her head.

Foggy chose a table and looked at her, and trying not to stare. "Not exactly," he said, his gusto wilting with the slumping of his shoulders. "But we have an appointment tomorrow with the realtor you suggested. We're very excited."

Nory leaned closer to Matt and quietly said, "I take it he met her."

"How'd you know?" he asked quietly back, breathing relieved at knowing for certain she hadn't recognized him beneath the mask.

"She's very pretty," Nory answered hearing Matt's soft 'ah.' She stopped a step from the booth and placed Matt's hand on the back of it. "No problem," she said in response to his thanks. "If it turns out she sucks at her job all I did was pass on her business card. But I hope she's good and you guys get an office, then I can put your card on the board," she jerking a thumb to the bulletin board on the wall that was filled with flyers and business cards, missing pets, local events.

"She's smiling by the way," Foggy told him. "The cute one where her cheeks get all big." He laughed when Nory slapped his arm before going to get them drinks, and the moment she was gone he turned to Matt. "Oh man you should see her face," he said before he realized what he'd said. "Sorry," he quickly stated before continuing. "Someone really did a number on her."

"What do you mean?" Matt asked feigning confusion. "You think someone's hurting her?"

Foggy shrugged. "Someone did. Don't know how she's acting so normal about it."

That struck Matt cause he hadn't noticed and Foggy was right, there was nothing in the rate of her heart or the cadence of her voice to suggest she was uncomfortable with the bruises on her face and that everyone could see them – she was used to it. "But she's still pretty."

He nodded as he looked for her, seeing her standing at a table with two homeless men smiling at something one of them saying through decaying teeth as she refilled his cup of coffee. "Still don't know how you do that, but yeah. You should totally ask her out, she always smiles when you flirt with her."

Matt scoffed. "I don't flirt with her."

It was Foggy's turn to scoff. "Oh I'm blind can you help me to a chair so I can touch your boob as I hold your arm," he badly impersonated. "Seriously, every time. You never know she could be into you," he said with a shrug cause most women seemed to be.

"She's not," Matt said with a shake of his head.

"How do you know?"

He'd known the first time he try his hand at flirting with her, she'd smiled and spoke warmly but there'd been no sign of reciprocation – her heart didn't beat faster, her breathing didn't shallow or deepen, she didn't flirt back. He'd tried it again the next time him and Foggy had come in, and still no reaction besides her normal pleasant approach to everyone. "Because I know," he said effectively ending that conversation and turning toward Nory who he could hear walking back to their table to take their order.

…

Nory finished her shift, pulling a double cause someone called in sick, and left the diner to a very dark night. It shouldn't have been a surprise to find a car waiting at the curb, he had said he'd send someone to pick her up, nor should it have been a surprise that the driver called out to her by name – last name included – and said he'd been sent by Fisk. And yet she was surprised, and so very touched that he'd cared enough to remember cause she honestly hadn't expected him to.

She made it home safe and sound, without even having to tell him where she lived – something that had unsettled her as she climbed the steps to her apartment and made sure to lock the door behind her.

And even then, with Fisk knowing her address and work schedule, she was still surprised the next morning by the knock that came twenty minutes before her shift. Only when she opened the door it wasn't the man who'd driven her the night before or even Fisk himself. Standing out of place and entirely unhappy was a familiar man in blacked rimmed glasses and an impeccable suit looking for all the world like he didn't know why he had the unfortunance of standing on her doorstep.


	3. Chapter 3

_I have Fisk speaking a bit more in this chapter and I'm not sure what the best way to emphasize his pauses would be, so at the moment I have commas all in his dialogue - so when you see his dialogue and the random commas, those are his pauses as I hear them in my head. Also if anyone has a better idea for how to execute his manner of speech, I am wide open for suggestions._

* * *

Wesley looked down his nose at the woman who opened the door; her yellow uniform wrinkled, her dark hair piled in a haphazard bun, her black makeup smudged beneath her eyes probably left over from the previous night making her already obvious bruises more apparent. Her disheveled appearance suited the rundown apartment; the wall paint chipped and stained, the concrete stairwell chipped and cracking and stained, her door chipped and stained. It was a shithole that smelled like piss and garbage, drugs and poverty. He felt the need to bathe just from standing there. "Noreen," he greeted with a forced smile.

His smile jogged her memory, or rather his grimace cause he had a habit of looking like he'd smelled something bad. Fisk didn't bring him often, not that she could blame him, but she recognized that arrogant tone of voice and smug face. "Wesley." She didn't know if that was his first or last name and he certainly didn't care for her to know which. "You wanna come in?"

"That's not necessary," he answered too quickly. It didn't matter that the smell coming from her apartment was of flowers and candles, or that the small glimpse he had of the inside looked clean if not small and cluttered; Fisk hadn't told him to go inside, only to be nice.

Her half pleasant face smoothed into one of offense and irritation, remembering very clearly the time she'd given him a glass of water and the several minutes he'd sat staring at the glass in distaste. "D'you want something, cause I can't imagine you driving me anywhere?"

"No," he agreed fixing his glasses on his face. "I'm here on behalf of our mutual friend he,"

"You're here cause of Mr. Fisk," she clarified.

His teeth ground at her interruption, the muscles in his jaw working but otherwise his face remained stoic as he swallowed. He loathed her knowing Fisk's name, an unimportant civilian who offered nothing; it was all he could do to form another smile, obeying Fisk's command to be nice. "Yes," he stated simply before continuing what she'd interrupted. "He saw it fit to amend your current plight."

She waited for him to say more, to do something other stare at her with that infuriating smirk that made her want to punch his stupidly cute face. She'd never given much thought to what a bug felt like moments before it was squashed by a shoe, but she thought of it then and she figured it felt pretty much the same way she felt under his stare. "You mean, like, giving me a full time driver?"

He stared down at her blinking silently before he took a sharp breath and answered. "No, not like giving you a full time driver. Consider it a gift."

Nory stared down at the keys he maneuvered into her hand stupefied. She wouldn't have accepted the offer of a driver but at least it was reasonable. But a car. "I can't accept this," she said extending her arm to hand them back.

It was the first time his prideful smile faltered as his brows drew together confused. "You can't afford a new car," he corrected, "you _can_ accept this."

But she shook her head and tucked the keys in his suit pocket. "A car's not a gift, it's too much, I can't take it," she told him not even considering it. She didn't take charity, it might not have been Fisk's intention but he'd sidled Wesley with giving it to her and she wasn't taking anything from this glasses wearing shit face.

"Noreen, consider what you're being offered; you make ten dollars an hour working double shifts almost everyday of the week just to make rent. It'll be over a year before you can pay to fix your car, which," he said raising a hand to solidify his argument, "will break down not even a year after that and you'll be left where you are now saving up to buy a new car because the one you currently own will no longer be salvageable. Save yourself the hassle and take the car, I had it registered in your name this morning, it was paid for in full – you owe nothing." He took the set of keys out of his pocket again and handed them to her, only now her arms were crossed and she wasn't budging.

She didn't know if he had any idea how patronizing he sounded, slowing his words down as if she was a bad tempered child, but it was all she could manage not to slam the door in his face – he was Mr. Fisk's assistant, she'd at least try to be amicable. Except what she said, complete with a hip-cocked attitude was; "I don't know what you think you know about me but I'm not interested in being your charity case and I don't take freebies."

Wesley took his glasses off and inspected their lenses, blew dust off them, before righting them back on his face and looking down at the infuriating woman he so wished would take a wrong step so Fisk would forget about her. "Noreen Olivia Lake age 26, your mother is Jessica Lake died when you were twelve, you were raised by your aunt as your father is unnamed. You attended Harlem Renaissance High School for two years before dropping out at the beginning of your junior year and then started working at the local McDonald's – an early start to the rest of your career, I take it," he said with a grin. "You've had the police called on you at least three times, all of which were domestic, Wade Tilley was arrested, and you refused to press charges. Given that, misfortunate, part of your past I think it's safe to say he's why you moved here after Aunt Margie died – my condolences," he added, pride entering his already hard eyes as he stared at her shocked face. "I do know you. What I haven't quite figured out is why he insists on concerning himself with you; and make no mistake Noreen he is concerned, especially after your unfortunate attack." He made a show of looking at her cheek, then her clenched jaw, then back to her eyes. "Knowing you have the means to transport yourself from point A to point B would ease his mind."  
Wesley thought several things of her in that initial meeting, she was young and head strong, she knew nothing of the man Fisk was either physically or visionary, and she was annoyingly stubborn. A charity case, as though her labor was anything more than service; she scraped the bottom of the barrel, a stepping stone. Only Fisk had decided she was some pillar of goodness and now Wesley was at her doorstep having to ask her to take a car he'd spent a majority of the morning signing into her name. He thought by then she'd relent and accept the car, that she was easily persuadable by money when it was so obvious she needed it. He was honestly surprised she hadn't taken the offer already.

"If Mr. Fisk wants to talk more about the car I'll probably lock up at eleven, but I'm done talking to you Wesley and it really wasn't a pleasure seein you again."

With that she closed and locked the door, leaving him standing with his brows raised in mild surprise as he looked at the chipped brown paint, as she continued getting ready for work.

She half expected him to be there when she opened the door to leave, to try forcing the car on her again or offering a ride cause Fisk wouldn't want her walking. But he was gone, at least she thought he was; she didn't consider he'd be in the back of a car watching her as she began walking, holding a phone to his ear listening to Fisk's displeased voice because Nory Lake did no wrong therefore Wesley was at fault. "I understand, sir," Wesley said biting his tongue. "I'll make sure she gets to the diner safely."

…

Nory had finished wiping down the tables and was flipping the chairs to set them on the tables so she could mop when a dark car pulled to the curb outside. Looking down at her watch she saw it was a quarter to eleven and she sighed having hoped he would've been busy and saved the conversation for later, or maybe forgot about it all together. After ten minutes she was double checking the oven and flat tops, making sure everything had been turned off, before she shut off the lights and locked the door behind her; not knowing Wesley had spent those ten minutes irritated at her audacity to make them wait.

"Good evening, Nory," Fisk said politely standing beside the car as she stopped in front of him.

"Hey Mr. Fisk," she said scuffing her shoe on the sidewalk. "I take it Wesley told you."

Fisk gave a short nod without looking at her. "I had hoped you would like it," he said not understanding why she hadn't, and yet not knowing whether to be angry or upset – or if those were one and the same.

"I did," she assured him seeing the sad face he sometimes made that just broke her heart, only now she'd been the one to frame it on his face. "Well, I mean, I didn't see the car but the thought was so generous and the fact that you care so much about me; it's just," she thought of how to explain it without sounding ungrateful, which she was feeling and had been since Wesley said he'd spent the morning making sure it was hers. "I haven't done anything," she finally said lamely, giving him a small apologetic smile when he looked at her.

This was something he understood, he didn't agree with it but he at least knew from where her refusal spawned. "You don't think you deserve it," he said wondering who had convinced her she was worthless.

She looked down at herself, at her pale yellow uniform and the small ketchup stain on her hip from a kid during the dinner crowd. "No," she told him simply with such stark honesty he almost winced. "My crowning achievement in life is serving people food well, and not even really well cause I get to talking and other people have to wait. I'm not really anyone."

Fisk stared at the ground shaking his head, hearing so much of Wesley's feelings toward her in her own words – and knowing she truly believed it. "It saddens me," he said without looking up, "that you will never, _see_ , yourself as I do."

"Mr. Fisk," she breathed quietly, seeing he was honestly upset.

"You," he continued as though he hadn't heard her, "remind me why I fight for this city, to clean the filth from these streets, so that people such as yourself may safely make Hell's Kitchen your home. You are, a light, in this darkness, and you deserve more than I can give you."

Nory stood in stupefied awe wondering what exactly Fisk saw when he looked at her cause she'd never seen what he had – she never thought it possible. He'd stuttered in the way he spoke, not his words but the speed in which he'd said them, and it was so clear in his pained face how hard all that had been for him to say. She honestly just wanted to throw her arms around his middle.

"I will not persuade you to, take the car, if you do not wish for it. But, I can offer you a ride," he said motioning to the black SUV behind him.

She gave him a small, if not shaky, smile and nodded. "I can at least accept that," she said seeing his own grin though it was misshapen and quickly slipped from his mouth. He held the door open for her and slid into the backseat and found herself beside Wesley.

"Evening Noreen," he said watching her nose wrinkle at the use of her full name. For the first time in the months Fisk had known this woman Wesley was finally starting to see where his fondness for her came from – he didn't at all agree with it, he'd just as soon push her out of the moving vehicle than speak to her again, but he at least understood.

Fisk sat across from the two, seeing Wesley's previous smile melt from his face the moment he turned away from Nory. "I hope Wesley was polite, this morning," he said knowing the other man more than likely hadn't been.

Nory stole a quick glance at the man in question, who Fisk was also staring at, to see Wesley swallow as he folded his hands – she might not've known much about Fisk but she knew discomfort when she saw it. "Bout as polite as you could expect," she said causing both men to turn to her questioningly. "I did kind of waste all his time this morning, and then rubbed it in his face by sayin no."

Fisk nodded pleased at her words, knowing she'd lied yet again to him – and again he didn't mind for the good intent behind it. Wesley though, he stared at the half lit side of her face a moment longer wondering why she had lied; he'd given no illusion to deserving it and she was staring out the window without the appearance of holding it over him. It didn't make sense no matter what way he looked at it, save Fisk's common use of the word kind in relation to her.

Without her having said anything the driver stopped in front of her complex and something in her wasn't the least bit surprised, at least not that night. Fisk climbed out of the car and she turned to Wesley, a thought clear in her head; "I didn't get you in trouble, did I?" she asked quickly.

His brow twitched as he shook his head. "I would say you got me out of it," he told her, knowing Fisk would've reprimanded him the moment Nory left, except she'd spoken for him alleviating Fisk's disappointment in him.

Nory nodded and scooted closer to the door where Fisk stood with his hand held to help her out. "Then you're welcome asshole," she said before taking Fisk's hand and climbing out of the car.


	4. Chapter 4

Two days later and Nory was thinking life might return to normal without anymore surprise cars and large wealthy men putting the pressure of being 'all the good in the world' on her thin shoulders; as normal as life could be considering her car was still undriveable, she now had a towing bill she couldn't afford to pay, and a black car was always there when it was time for her to go to work.

Then two-thirty came round and in walked two men in impeccable suits looking so out of place in the five decade old diner – even her uniform resembled the sixties. "Hello," Fisk greeted when she stopped in front him, and he noticed as he always did that the top of her head barely reached his chin. She seemed so small in comparison, so easily breakable, her shoulders half the width of his own, the side of her face already bruised; the thought had him running his thumb over his cuff link as he stared down at her smiling face.

"What a pleasant surprise, I didn't expect to see you so soon," Nory told him wondering what he'd offer her this time, and dreading the look of hurt on his face when she said no.

He nodded forcing his arms to his sides. "I did not, intend…to return on such an, _early_ occasion," he explained uncomfortably, his hands clenching into loose fists, his cheeks twitching in what might've been a smile but his mouth never curled.

"I don't mind," Nory assured him, hoping to ease the perpetual shyness he always showed. "Would you guys like a booth?" she asked barely glancing at Wesley who stood behind Fisk.

"Yes, thank you," Fisk answered as he followed after her – her hair pulled back, her uniform worn and wrinkled, her white keds scuffed and dirty. Staring at the back of her it were as though he was a child again, his mother at his back, the pretty waitress smiling at him sweetly pouring a little extra grenadine in his cherry coke. It was a safe place, this diner – _his_ safe place.

"Mr. Fisk?"

He looked down at Nory's concerned face, her brows drawn together, her hands playing with the hem of her uniform, her eyes asking more questions than she let her mouth ask. Nory watched everything with a gaping curiosity, studied every passing moment for a reason why it occurred and how to make it better, spread good will like an infectious disease weakening everyone around her making them prone to smile, she lived unsatisfied with the life she was born into because something in her craved for more – Fisk didn't think Wesley had noticed yet, he was blinded by his own arrogance in the face of her poverty, she would handle public relations well. "When do you take your break?" he asked standing beside the booth she'd brought them to.

She looked down at her watch. "Now, I guess," she said turning her eyes back to his face. "I'd like to get Leroy and Earl started on some coffee first, if you don't mind."

It never ceased to surprise Wesley at how easily she overlooked her own status as the service, especially in the face of Fisk who she could only ever hope to serve. And yet before he could open his mouth to tell her they did in fact mind Fisk had already told her of course and she'd walked away. "Sir," he said sliding unhappily into the probably filthy booth.

"Do you see the two men she is with?" Fisk asked him, not giving him a chance to express his concerns anymore.

Wesley looked to where she stood beside a table with two obviously homeless men – their clothes were filthy and torn, dirt on their faces and hands, one of them had sores on his mouth, both were practically skeletons swallowed in their clothing. "I can smell their stench from here," he answered, his face mirroring his disgust in the pull of his upper lip. And yet Nory stood beside them pouring them coffee, giving them a plate full of people's leftovers, entirely unaffected. It only solidified to Wesley how separate their worlds were and that she did not belong in theirs.

Fisk, on the other hand, didn't agree. "They both have … too much pride, to stay at the shelter. Nory has…taken to saving…uneaten food as the diner cannot…afford …free service. The owner allows it, she does not participate, the other patrons turn away in disgust, the other…waitresses…do nothing. She sees only their need, and how she…might…go about alleviating their pain."

"She's a good person, sir," Wesley agreed without much thought. In truth he didn't know much about her personally, didn't very much care to – but there was something Fisk saw in her, something specific, and Wesley didn't think he would ever understand.

Fisk nodded having known that at their initial meeting several months before. "It says nothing…to respect those on, equal, ground as yourself – but, to show those…beneath you…that same respect." Fisk looked at Wesley hoping to see understanding and only seeing slight confusion, he shook his head and looked away.

Nory left the two haggard men and returned to Fisk and Wesley – finding the irony that complete opposite sides of the financial spectrum were sitting less than ten feet away from each other. And then she saw Fisk's face, his deeply furrowed brows, his heavy stare. "You okay?" she asked reaching a hand to his arm.

His face turned upward, his expression that of a child's. "Yes," he said, brushing his fingers over her hand briefly; a generous touch he was not accustomed. "Please, have a seat," he said motioning to the place beside where Wesley sat across from him.

She expected Wesley to scoot over, to acknowledge that she was gonna sit on his side of the booth, but he was too preoccupied staring at Fisk wondering what he'd done to deserve it. Without warning she was pressed against his side – he moved over then, startled not only by her being there but by how close she was. And Nory, rather spitefully, slid back to his side trapping Wesley between her hip and the glass. She looked up at him and smiled feigning sweetness; a smile he returned, feigning nothing, a grimace as always.

Fisk didn't quite notice, he was glancing at the two side by side and how different they looked – her hair though pulled back was a curled mess, her uniform cheap and unironed, while Wesley looked quite eloquent, his pristine suit crisp. Such a strange pair. "I do not…wish to alarm you," Fisk began capturing both their attention, "or offend."

Both sat waiting for him to continue, for him to summon the obviously difficult words – Wesley knew to wait, to hold his tongue until Fisk spoke first, but he waited for Nory to speak out flustering him so that he wouldn't find the right words and might forget this whole thing. Only Nory stayed quiet, rested her elbows on the table in a relaxed manner that somehow relaxed Fisk if only slightly.

"I wish to… offer you," his fingers stuttered over the cuff link on his sleeve, making right the day's cruelty in her, "a job."

If Nory had been in the process of drinking she would've choked at his words, she still almost did as she sat with wide eyes wondering where that'd come from. "Is it cause you saw my shitty building?" she asked alarming Wesley at her casual use of profanity toward Fisk. "My apartment doesn't look that bad, other than some broken appliances it's fine," she tried to assure him.

But he held a hand up knowing that too was dishonest: he knew her building, knew the man that owned it left it to rot without proper car. "In part…yes," he answered looking up at her face before his eyes fell to the white table. "I am…buying the building, as well as…many others. They will be torn down, made into something…new. It is an…unfortunate occurrence, an unavoidable one. And I" his mouth formed the first letter of the next word but his voice fled him – he was taking her home, whether or not other houses would be made it was still hers. He spared little thought for the other tenants, most of whom were petty criminals, violent, obscene, even the women were a different breed. But Nory, she gave to the world what she wished it would give in return, and she continued to give knowing it never would. "I wish to help you…remain in Hell's Kitchen. This city…needs someone, such as yourself. You are no fool, you do not expect good will but…you spend every day giving it." The sound of his phone quieted him and for a moment he wanted to throw it against the wall. "I'm afraid I must take this," he apologized as he stood. "Perhaps…Wesley might discuss the details."

Nory sat quietly going over everything she'd been told; her building was gonna be torn down, it might've been a dump but she couldn't afford anything else, and the only real friend she could stay with lived in the same building. And there was a reason why he wanted to help her, it was hiding beneath the embellished words and long pauses, but there was something in the way he said the city needed her: there was a way he wanted to use her. "So, what exactly is he thinking of me doing?" she asked turning to Wesley. If she hadn't been sitting at his side she wouldn't have seen the way his jaw clenched, would've been unaware how unhappy he was with this meeting because the rest of his face was void of all feeling.

"Cleaning his penthouse once a week, being paid far more than you deserve," he told her hoping it would turn her off the idea: she knew Fisk's name, she couldn't know where he lived too.

"Would that include dry cleaning?"

He turned to her startled, his brows poised, his eyes narrowed. "You're considering it?" he asked, assuming she thought too highly of herself to accept.

Nory shrugged looking to where Fisk stood outside. "If he's getting rid of the complex I don't see much of a choice. Besides," she looked up at Wesley, "it seems to piss you off so why not." She almost laughed as his face grew hard before he turned away, he made it too easy especially with his head so far up his ass. "So does that include dry cleaning?"

He took a moment to compose himself, refusing to let her rile him, and he straightened his glasses before turning to her again. "Yes, that would include his dry cleaning, as well as personal errands. All of which have you in need of a car." He smiled at her confusion, her brows drawing together as she thought of what he meant.

"Seriously?"

He raised a shoulder looking as though he were pondering when in fact he had a very specific thought in mind. "While it seems you and I are in agreement to your being undeserving, he isn't of the same mind. You can always say no," he reminded gently, hoping so much she would – if she turned this down Fisk would have to let his fondness for her go.

She knew what he was doing, she knew not to trust anything he said unless it was rude cause everything else was a ploy. "Really?" she asked getting a little more than annoyed with this particular man, she might understand if she'd done more to him than exist, but as it were he was lucky there was no glass of water for her to consider pouring over his perfectly coifed hair. "When he sits there with that sweet and earnest face, looking like a sad little puppy, you really think I'm just gonna say no?"

She left Wesley to contemplate the meaning of her words, to realize she saw Fisk in a way a rare few did – himself included. This impoverished waitress, this ordinary unimportant civilian, had somehow seen in Fisk the same thing he had. Wesley wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, and so he sat waiting for Fisk to return and say they were leaving to attend to more important business; such as the Union Allied fiasco or the masked man the Russians were incompetent to handle. Anything was more important and worthy of their time, and yet they were sitting at an old barely sustainable diner after a woman who was no more different than any other.

Nory checked on Earl and Leroy, served the elderly couple that'd come in, saw to the guy her age that came with his laptop almost every afternoon to enjoy the quiet and the waitresses, and made her way back to Wesley and Fisk, who'd returned from his call.  
"You're leavin aren't you," she said knowing from the way he stood rather than sat that he was.

His face again turned into an apology. "I am afraid I have…other, matters to attend. Have you given any thought to my…proposition?"

And there was that sweet, shy, face as he stood facing her with his eyes downcast. "I have Thursday off, if that works for you."

He nodded pleased that she had agreed. "It does," he said rubbing his thumb over his fingers as he stood over her. "I'll have…Wesley call with a time, I will show you around, what is expected, you can…start next week. If you like," he added glancing at her. She was no longer looking at him patiently, her face pleasant and warm; instead she stared wide-eyed across the street, her face pale, her mouth slightly agape. "Nory?"

The sound of her name had her almost jumping out of her skin as her head jerked to face him, the concern heavy in his eyes. "Yeah," she said breathlessly, her head pounding furiously, a smile shivering over her mouth, "I can start next week." Her eyes turned to the window for the familiar and unwanted face she'd seen, more unnerved that the person was now gone from where he'd previously stood. "Thank you for the," her panicked mind froze not knowing if she should say consideration or job, or hell even caring, "just, thanks," she said with a small shrug, her gaze falling once more to the other side of the street before she turned back to Fisk and smiled. "I hope you have a great day."

Fisk watched her turn on her heel and disappear behind the swinging door that led to the kitchen, possibly to calm her shaken nerves. He looked to Wesley hoping he might understand what had frightened her, but Wesley only shrugged his brows and shook his head with no more understanding and much less concern.

* * *

 _For those of you who pay attention to the story banner the actress I've pictured for Nory so far has been Amber Heard - blonde, beautiful. But I haven't been completely satisfied with her, or the image of her as Nory. And then I remembered Emmy Rossum from Shameless (which I sadly have not seen save youtube videos), whose able to look a bit more run down, and I'm really liking the idea of her for Nory. But I wanted to let you guys know before I changed the story banner (which will be a little later when I'm out of class), and to also give anyone who opposes a chance to let me know._


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